


Pinned by a Terrorist

by orphan_account



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Asphyxiation, BT Combat, Higgs Has Issues He’s Not Discussing, Higgs Monaghan Being Higgs Monaghan, M/M, Slight Overstimulation, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, shower masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Higgs has a habit of turning up when things get bad just as Sam’s position is conveniently compromised.But this time— Sam isn’t the one who is compromised.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I took one good look at Higgs and thought “choke that rat” and now, here we are. Thus— the rat gets choked. 
> 
> I did this at a late hour and I didn’t take the time to correct/revise as well as I should’ve so get ready for mistakes. 
> 
> Enjoy~

_Oh, Lou._

The thrashing of her hands, the wrinkle of skin beneath her eyes, the silent drift of her cries as they carry through the container of amniotic fluid— it’s all too much. 

_Please, I can’t help you right now._

The noise of the world around Sam is cacophonous— unyielding and deafening. Never a moment of silence, especially not now. BTs whisper and cry and scream and Lou— the key, _the tool_ , to see it all— is clearly suffering the most. 

_Fucking— please, Lou._

Her cries are muted against the thick, bullet-proof glass and muffled by fluid but Sam can hear it, almost louder than the BTs. They can hear it too. 

Sam is thrown off balance by the earth beneath his feet quaking in rhythmic, rapid thuds. Tar shoots from the ground like a geyser with each heavy strike on the dirt. It spews upwards, leaving a not-so-human handprint beneath it. 

_Fuck_. 

A chorus of slaps by unfathomable cords and strings against Sam’s back shocks him and freezes him in place. Lou lets out a guttural cry and Sam finds that humiliating, painful sting of salty tears in his eyes. His feet stutter and his hands grab at Lou and his own face— a desperate attempt to muffle Lou in his chest and stifle his own breathing at the same time. 

‘Disembodied’ is a term often used for BTs, but Sam wouldn’t in a million years describe them that way in the midst of all this. The steady breathing on his neck is real. The sting of invisible umbilical cords— seams between worlds— separating and joining like flocks of birds in the sky, mere inches in front of his face are real too. And Lou, her cries and her fears and the weightless tears edging out of her eyes are all real too. 

The hand placed so heavily on the center of his back is real as well. The claws— the sharp, jagged claws— are realer than anything he’s ever felt. 

He feels a scream growing within his own chest before Lou’s could have a chance to break through the fluid of her tank. That anxious vibration before the straining air pushes past his vocal cords and shakes his jaw with how much force is behind it. 

The claws in his back, the ripping, the break of a bone he’s _sure_ he feels when his body is lifted by a mere halfway-conceivable entity and slammed back down into the mud and dirt. His arms fly from their tight grip on Lou’s tank to shield his face from the Timefall’s intrusive wash. Tiny pellets of water begin to suck the life out of his cheek. Just a small spot or two, but enough that he can feel the sting and the ache of rapid aging. 

He pulls his hood over his eyes as another darkened handprint manifests dead-center on his chest. The weight of it is crushing. 

He really is stuck in the shit now. 

A multitude of thoughts with varying points and ideas flash through his head. The reality hits him that Lou could be taken by these _things_ more than he ever can. Repatriates can break free from the seam and become something new, wash away the past like a clean slate and emerge unharmed on the other side with ease. All it took was finding that golden trail and following it to salvation. Lou isn’t capable of that. 

The impermanence of her soul terrifies him. 

Sam curls himself into the tightest ball he can, engulfing the entirety of Lou’s tank in a grip so fierce no one could possibly pry it away. Hands push and pull and rock his body back and forth, jolting his head and giving him whiplash. Pulling at the joints of his arms and legs and ramming into his bones and ribs and spine as he’s tossed and turned in every which way. 

It’s been a longtime since he’s repatriated. 

Since the beginning— before there was anything to protect but simple cargo and simpler codes of conduct— Sam has never been afraid of failing jobs. This wasn’t a job, though. This was a life in his hands which he values more than his own. He can come back, but Lou’s little hands are already bruising themselves just by hitting the glass in a fevered fit of terror. 

_Please, don’t let this happen. I’ll do anything._

There are no gods or masters in the midst of a world plagued by mass extinctions and ghosts and the dead living, Sam knows this. But the little cries in his ears, so loud yet so quiet against the BTs groans and moans, make him want to believe in a higher power that can take him away from this royal fuck up. 

_Lou— please. Don’t let her die. Take me._

Tar engulfs him and a part of his mind wonders if the repatriation is already in progress— if he’d died without even noticing. 

His head lolls against the faux-waves and his body is washed away into a sea of confusion and dark, congealed fluid that makes him a buoy on its surface. He’s used to sinking during repatriation, that part he can navigate, handle like no other, but there is no sinking here. His chest still heaves and his lungs burn from inhaling his own spit, choking on shameful tears and a grave fear of losing Lou. 

Chiral-gold hands reach out and grip his face like the hands of a man, too strong and meticulous in their movements to be BT. They feel too guided. Too real and reactive to be of supernatural influence. BTs are borderline monsters. Humans with no concept of humanity beyond their own lingering emotions, remnants of everything they died with that still manages to pollute their hearts. The palms and fingers that pulled him off the water— emerged him from the waves and shook him off and gave way to the sky that was suddenly so clear— they were new and they were foreign. 

It feels like he’s being pulled through a tunnel as the BTs’ voices fade away. The clouds look close enough that he could touch and each waft of fresh air in his face and absence of Timefall makes him twist and thrash for a chance to look around, to get some idea of his location. All he knows is that he’s floating and Lou is just as confused as him. Her eyes wander where his had out of habit, and vise-versa, as both fear the same things for one another and yet neither have the knowledge or ability of how to fix it all, of how to end their plight. 

Lou looks up at something above Sam’s head and he stares down at her with a silent beg, pleading for her to see that he’s sorry for putting her through this. That he just wants it to end. That if he can, he’ll take them both far, far away from here. Suddenly, her cries stop. 

_Thank you_. 

She paws at her cheeks and palms her squinted, reddened eyes with both of her little hands, and her fingers somehow soak themselves in a salty fluid of her own creation as though even in a tank, tears mean as much in fluid as they do in oxygen. Even within the amber fluid of her pod, Sam can see her tears drying. 

“God, thank you.”

The world had become utterly silent in an instant. Sam can’t feel a thing touching him but an unseen force of hands lifting his body upwards to the sky, above the sea of tar and away from the danger that threatens him and his B.B— _his child_. He had become a weightless entity as similar to the BTs as he can imagine he’d ever felt. Body-less trips to the seam could never compare to this feeling. A silent, clear sky and cold air make the world stand still. He can breathe now, and he does, just as quickly as he strains his body, craning his head to see what’s _really_ holding him away from danger. 

“I ain’t a god, but if you insist on the title,” a voice shoots his nerves and ignites his blood to the peak of boiling. “Well, I’m not one to put down a good compliment.” 

That thick, southern drawl that ticks in his ears like a bomb. Each syllable of its words plaguing his senses with fear and anger— _so much anger_ — as he punches the air, pulles at the atmosphere around him in his best attempt at wading through the wind and turning towards the voice’s source. His body begins to lower, and that voice behind him only grows louder. 

“You really know how to get all worked up over nothing. Here I was thinking you’d finally cashed in your chips and bit the bullet, bridges.” 

Sam’s mind races with denial as much as it does rage and yet shameful regret— the villain becoming the savior, and so forth. It boggles his mind and confuses him to no end as to why his saving grace has to be _him_. 

Higgs chuckles lowly. “But I guess we both know you don’t break so easily, do you Sammy-boy?” 

“Get the fuck away from me.” Sam grunts. 

“Ah-ah-ah.” Sam can hear the clicking of Higgs’ tongue. “Not so fast.” 

Sam’s world suddenly flipps and his body with it. Without his consent, he’s pulled downwards in a rush quick enough to be blinding, and before he knows it, Lou is beneath him cooing at the ground below the two of them and Sam finds himself dangling mere inches from Higgs’ face. 

“I think you owe me a couple a’ words of gratitude. And how’s about an apology?” Higgs’ lips curl into a familiar expression that Sam has seen so many times before. Some smile that says just how full of himself he really is. “You wouldn’t want the generosity of little ol’ me going unappreciated, now would you?” 

“Fuck y—“ 

Each hand gripping at the major joints of Sam’s body— squeezing his limbs tight enough to bruise— release in an instant. His world goes dark and his body slaps against a wading sea of thick, engulfing tar that he thrashes and fights against to no avail. Lou’s little head spun and her eyes darted around in confusion before the new round of cries began to fly out in muffled bubbles against the thick fluid of her tank. Sam’s hands wrap around her in a last-ditch effort to keep her afloat but the weight of his body, especially as it thrashes and struggles, sink them both like a anchors. 

Pleas burden his mind once again as the fear has already begun to rebuild itself. 

_Nononono— fuck, I didn’t mean it_. 

A wave of thick, congealed darkness washes over him just as he manages to turn around and get his chin above the surface. But it’s already clogged his nose and soured his mouth and throat with bitter clumps of iron-like flavor. It’s a blunt, pungent taste and smell that doesn’t burn so much as clog. It feels like he’s choking on his tongue as it’s forcefully caked in tar and mud with each strain to inhale. 

_Bring me up. I didn’t mean it. I can’t lose her._

In an instant, it’s all gone. It recedes back into the soil and sprouts chiralium deposits in its stead with each one grasping and opening itself to the air in that hand-like formation that always looks so unnatural.

Sam comes face-to-face with that familiar mug once again and even in the midst of being saved he can’t help the reflexive growl in the back of his throat. Once the relief of salvation began to dissipate, his expression sours. 

“You know,” Higgs eyes him head to toe with a slanted grin, “Most folks like being saved. Although bitter looks pretty good on you, I’d say you’d be better off just taking your loss and runnin’ with it.” Higgs chuckles, “Doesn’t look to me like you’ve got much of a choice from my perspective.” 

Sam grumbles. “How’d you find me?”

“Oh Sammy, the things you let fly over your head astound me.” Higgs spins a finger in the air and Sam’s body is twisted into an upright position so that both of their bodies are standing straight up, head towards the sky, the only difference being that Sam is floating a few feet above the ground and Higgs isn’t. “How do I ever find you? Because I know things, Bridges. I know things you aren’t willing to acknowledge that I know because you’ve got this little superiority complex that says I’ve always gotta be one rung below you.” 

Higgs lifts a leg and props it against a chiralium hand that instantly sprouts to accommodate his new footing. As if he’s walking up stairs creating themselves by the second, he and Sam are quickly at eye-level. 

Higgs chuckles heartily, “I know you love rubbing one out to the thought that you’re just _kicking my ass_ at this little game of ours, but you’re not.” His voice lowers as he squints at Sam, “I’m not on your level, Bridges, I’m _above_ it.” 

If looks could kill. 

Sam feels his muscles reflexively straining to prepare for a punch. All he can ever imagine in Higgs’ presence is how good it would feel to knock the ego out of his words and pound that sleazy grin of his into a shadow of its former self— to simply destroy that sickening confidence he has in himself. 

“I’m not gonna thank you.” Sam growls, “You’re so full of shit you can’t even see past your own delusions.” 

Higgs laughs— a sound that reminds Sam of a barking hound. “And how heartbreaking that is considering I’m just _dying_ for your approval.”

“Then what do you want?” Sam asks.

“A lot of things you won’t give me,” Higgs says, “A few you would if your high-horse wasn’t so damn high.” 

Sam looks down at Lou swimming around and giggling up at Sam, casting a playful eye to Higgs as though she’s never seen a more delightful pair than the two of them— oblivious to the reality of her company. 

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Then let me go.” 

“Ain’t she cute.” Higgs completely ignores Sam’s words and eyes Lou bouncing happily on fluid in her tank. He lifts a finger to tap the glass and Sam’s sudden grip around his wrist is vise-like. 

Sam grunts in warning. He exhales a growl low enough to rattle any man to his core. “Don’t touch her.”   
  
“Woah-ho there Mr. Aphenphosmphobia. I wouldn’t want you to bruise yourself now.” Higgs pulls his hand and frowns when his wrist is still being restrained. 

Sam tries to stifle the near undeniable urge to cringe and pull away. He holds Higgs’ wrist even as he yanks it and glares a clear warning that Sam should let go— lest one of them be _unnecessarily harmed_. But that painful sting beneath his palm singes the skin of his hand like he’d touched a stove. He releases Higgs with a low hiss and the look of relief on his face almost makes it seem like he’s thankful he didn’t have to chop off a few of Sam’s fingers as his gut reaction dictated. 

“How cute it is that you’re so unwilling to bend your perspective to reality. Some of us are still down here and present though, Sam.” Higgs says with a chuckle, ”Try joining us sometime.” 

“You did this.” Sam furrows his brow and gestures to the sky with one outstretched hand. “Why?” 

Higgs scoffs. “I’ve got better things to do than keep up with your every move. I’m not here to throw myself at your feet. I just happened to be in the area and thought how sad it would be to let you go to waste by such… pitiful means.” 

“I don't—“ 

“Oh, but you’re a _repatriate_ , right? You don’t die? Your Ha’s taken a hot little liking to your Ka? I get it. I only meant that it would be a shame to watch something so valuable take another punch to the sack for no good reason.” 

“Then you did your part,” Sam says, “Now get out of here.” 

Higgs suddenly pauses and inhales like he’s never smelled a sweeter stench in his life. He closes his eyes and leans forward, grabbing Sam by the collar but not once allowing his fingers to graze the skin of his clavicle. He’s careful not to make any physical contact as he takes a deep lungful of Sam’s essence, following his throat as it bobs and Sam cranes his head to pull away. 

On a deep exhale, Higgs whispers into Sam’s neck, his breath hot against his skin. “You don’t _really_ want that. I know you don’t. Try as you might, Bridges, you’re clear as day. All that ‘ _don’t touch me’_ bullshit works wonders on my end when I need to know if you’re _actually_ in the mood to feel… something. I get that part, that sometimes you just need a little pick me up—“ 

Higgs gasps as Sam quickly lurches forward with both hands and slaps the balls of his palms into Higgs’ chest, forcing him backwards. A sea of hands arises from the ground and catches him before he can ever make contact with it. 

“Someone’s feisty.” 

“I don’t want your hands on me, you fucking creep.” Sam sneers through gritted teeth, “I don’t want you near Lou.” 

“She doesn’t really seem to mind. It’s all you and your pretentious, stingy fucking attitude, Sammy-boy.” Higgs shakes his head, “It’s a real turn-off.” 

Sam rolls his eyes and begins kicking at the hands and punching at their joints— the ones that he can reach— until their little wrists and knuckles pop and crack from the force. Each crystal splits itself open underneath the weight of his fists. 

Higgs rolls his eyes. “Oh come on— relax.” Higgs thrusts both hands forward and the tips of his fingers flake off. Each one dissolves like chiral crystals ascending, and suddenly Sam’s legs aren’t dangling above the ground but actually touching it. “Since you have to be all dramatic.” Higgs sighs. “Never one to let spilled milk go unfretted I take it.”

Sam eyes him cautiously. He begins rolling on the balls of his feet and feeling out that heavy gravity finally back on his shoulders. Lou exhales little heart-shaped bubbles of gratitude up at him and Sam strokes her tank with a sympathetic eye before Higgs makes a loud ‘ahem’, and clears his throat. 

“Happy to be back on solid earth now?” He tilts his head condescendingly to one side, “Great. Well, you can thank yours truly for that gift because I really do believe I may have outdone myself this time.” Higgs grins, quirking a brow, “You’re lucky I’m in a giving mood today. Who knows what else you may get out of me.” Higgs winks. 

Sam pulls the straps of his suit forward and grunts, hiking the cargo rack hanging from his shoulders up his back, further from slipping. “I’m not gonna give you shit.” Sam’s Odradek comes to life with a burst of blue light, scanning everything within a mile radius for slippery or unsound soil and rocks, and at the pace of its pulsating scan, he begins walking. 

“Woah— wait, you think you can just walk away from this.”

“You act like I owe you something,” Sam says with a shake of his head, “I don’t owe you shit and I sure as hell don’t plan on giving you my gratitude.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry—“ the ground began to shake, oozing moisture and tar, and sprouting a bundle of hideous tentacles a few feet ahead of Sam. He gasped lowly at the sight of them. “I forgot about your little superiority complex. How’s about you and I make a deal then?” 

Sam eyes the writhing bundle of tentacles oozing with tar and slick, and sighs. He turns to face Higgs with a scowl, “What do you want?”

“Simple— you make amends for hurting this wittle ol’ heart of mine,” Higgs clasps a hand on the fabric of his coat, right above his heart, “And all is forgiven. Simplicity itself, Bridges, you should love that. I know how much you fickle delivery boys hate complicated orders.” 

Higgs grins, and Sam watches the curl of his lips as chiral-golden fangs peek out in the place of his upper canines. 

“How the hell do you expect me to make you feel better? I’m not your mother.” Sam eyes him in disgust, “I don’t know what your issue is but it’s not my problem.” 

Higgs’ eyes are piercing as he inhales sharply and sighs. His mouth presses into a flat line before he speaks, “No, you ain’t my mother, Sammy.” 

The ground began to vibrate, ever so lowly that Sam almost missed it. 

“But if you were, I’m sure you of _all_ people would know just how to punish me.” 

Higgs’ footsteps feel heavier than before against the earth as he takes a step towards Sam, and then another, and another. Sam finds himself stepping backwards, enough that the tentacles meant to stop him are close enough to graze his heels. 

“After all—“ Higgs reaches around his back and unsheathes a knife, his expression deathly serious, “You did see me at my worst, didn’t you? That little ‘incident’ at Lake Knot, that was a _bad_ time for me.” 

“How would I have—“ 

“Oh— you wouldn’t have. You weren’t _supposed_ to.” Higgs laughs, “‘Never show weakness in the face of an enemy’ and all that, but you saw it.” 

Higgs lurches forward and the serrated edge of his knife is right against the safety-toggle on Lou’s tank, just about to pop it open. 

Higgs’ voice is low, just above a whisper as he presses the knife forward and leans in close to Sam’s ear, “And I would just _hate_ to see you at your worst. What’re you like at your worst, Sammy?”

Sam’s hands reflexively wrap around the curves of Lou’s tank. His breath is shaky as he swallows, full of fear and pure, white-hot anger, and utterly silent. Higgs’ hot breath on his neck sends a shudder throughout his body that has him visibly shaking as it mixes with his own inner rage, and a tongue on the lobe of his ear makes him choke on his own words before they can even form.

“I’ve never hidden myself from you Sam. I think it’s about time I get to see what you’re like when someone presses the right—“

The cufflinks around Sam’s wrist chirp to life with a sequence of blue and white lights. The holographic display of his codec appears above his right arm, the display somewhat obscured by Higgs’ chest, and a familiar, particularly _fragile_ face shimmers with flimsy pixels. 

“Sam—“ 

Higgs jumps backwards out of view like a feline that’d gotten its paws wet. His expression is suddenly pale and startled and the piercing, imperious demeanor of his face and body language looks miraculously shrunken ten times over. 

“The prepper west of the distribution center south of Lake Knot just discovered a package pinged by MULEs and needs you to get it back—“ 

Fragile’s accented voice sounds strained as though she’s been in a hurry. Sam lifts the cufflink’s display to eye-level and watches it flicker along with her words. Connection is bad in the area already and her voice cuts in and out more than a few times. Sam’s surprised she’s even managed to contact him. 

Higgs quickly shoves the knife back into whatever pouch or sheath it came from and watches Sam. Both of their eyes meet and part as they each eye the image of Fragile, and then the other, in silence. Higgs smirks and lifts a finger over his lips in a ‘hush’ manner, giving Sam a quick wink before he disappears leaving flaky particles of chiral-matter, the writhing mass of BT tentacles behind Sam along with him. 

“—do you understand? This one’s not like the rest. I know you hate being gentle with things but,” Sam can hear the smile in her voice, “it’s imperative that you handle this package with caution. The cargo is in the hands of MULEs and you can’t allow it to be damaged anymore than it already has been.” 

Sam glances down at Lou— all full of smiles and giggles— and huffs an exhausted sigh. All he can imagine right now is the sweet and searing-hot embrace of a shower and a nap. But as always, duty calls. 

“Yeah, I got it.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rat finally gets choked Yeehaw

Sam nearly trips over his own feet just trying to get into the shower, and not falling over from immense relief upon finally feeling that hot water on his skin is an entirely other ordeal itself. That little switch flipped up is all it takes for him to bask in hot steam and brace himself against the shower wall, letting his head fall forward, chin-to-chest, and savor the sting of heat on his neck. Little pinpricks on his flesh tell him it’s too hot but what’s a little burn on a hard day’s damage ever done to worsen anything? It feels like heaven to him, and he sure as shit isn’t about to give that up any time soon. 

The MULEs were a nuisance. It took him two days just to plot a route into their territory and countless hours of running and hiding and plotting to evade their scanners and search parties. The first thing on Sam’s mind upon finally obtaining the missing cargo— and then some— was a shower. If not a shower than a quick power-nap with Lou in a steamy hot spring. 

He scrubs his hair and let the water do its thing, before that tingle of his fingers becoming soft and pruny tells him it’s time to ditch the shower and finally get some well-earned sleep. 

Blow-dried, he dresses himself and collapses on his bed. The lights dim automatically as they always do, somehow without him even asking, and he doesn’t bother to pull up a sheet or prop a pillow beneath his head. Sleep is already pulling at his consciousness and right now and it’s the best thing he could ever ask for. 

A shudder in the particles within the air beside his bed— a shimmer of sorts, dancing amalgamation of flakes and crystals— has Sam squinting, wondering if his tired eyes are deceiving him or not. A laugh reverberates through his eardrums louder than a BT’s wail and Sam knows that it’s more than real. 

Sam shoots up from the bed and his voice is low and annoyed. “Higgs.” 

“You know my name,” Higgs knocks a can of monster on the floor and watches it swell from the build-up of pressure inside of it, “good for you.” 

Sam eyes the placement of each object in the room for anything off-kilter. Lou’s pod is stable and clear as she twirls in a happy spin, cabinet display lights are functioning, and the ambient lighting is paler than ever, albeit low— all seems well. But Higgs, here, is asking for a world of repercussions from people already iffy about their ties to a certain porter.

Sam squints, watching Higgs slide a finger idly along his table. “I said I didn’t want to see you.” 

Higgs laughs, and the sound within his throat dies halfway as if he’s choking on his own vocal cords. “Yeah— well, I don’t remember putting much faith in your word,’ Higgs smirks, “no offense.” 

Sam watches him in the low, artificial lighting and it feels as though he’s trying to solve a physical puzzle. The way Higgs moves, how he saunters languidly as though he's trying to confuse or entice Sam is enough to tire him of his presence in seconds. In the low lighting, Sam can almost make out his eyeliner running especially messily down his cheeks. But despite his efforts to see his face, Higgs keeps his head turned away. 

Higgs circles Sam’s table and unscrews the lid on his cryptibiote jar. He plucks one out. “I assumed you’d be here, considering,” he pinches the head of the levitant insect and pops the innard-soaked remains in his mouth, and swallows, “that little call-to-arms our mutual friend gave you.” 

“Fragile?” 

“Yeah,” Higgs says, “ _Fragile_.” He sounds the word out real slow like it’s an insult he’s trying to make sure cuts deep. His head seems to loll unsteadily as he turns on his heel towards the display cabinet full of weapons. His eyes land on Lou. 

The laugh that Sam hears is different. It’s as though every sound in his throat is on the brink of muting into nothing, seconds away from a crack. It’s low and unsteady and Sam doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“Hey there cutie,” his voice is shaky, “did your daddy decide you needed a break too?” His tone conveys cynicism in its utmost form but the actual sound of his voice is undeniably a broken one. It sounds shaky and forced. 

Sam pulls himself to the edge of the bed with his heels and stands up with determination, beginning towards Higgs. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her, Higgs.” 

“I remember when my _daddy_ left me in little holes like this one.” Higgs’ voice cracks on the word ‘daddy’. He laughs this foreign type of sound that denotes the near permanent sarcasm in his voice, and to Sam, it just sounds like sadness— or perhaps grief in some way. 

Sam begins to reach for Higgs’ shoulder, to pull him back from that tiny, vulnerable pod, but Higgs’ shoulders begin to shudder. 

Higgs’ voice conveys the same kind of emotion that Sam hears in his own when Lou cries. When he tries to comfort her with a song he knows but has never heard, rock her in his arms like the most fragile thing he’s ever held— he hears that now in the way Higgs’ southern drawl breaks between the syllables. He sounds like a scratched record. 

It’s now that Sam notices Higgs’ hood is ripped along the seam. As though it was split by the individual threads, it looks to be falling apart with a shred down back, even through each strap and pouch. It’s uncharacteristically unkempt. 

Sam leans around to get some glance or other at Higgs’ face but Higgs doubles over, hands on his knees, and eyes on Lou. Sam can see the smear of eyeliner down to his jaw. 

“Yep, he was always a little hard on me,” his voice is low as he coos at Lou, admitting things Sam’s never heard to a pod that can’t even respond, “used to coop me up in places like this one. Cept’ daddy never made it nearly as bright as this one.” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue, “No, he liked it dark. Just for me.”

Concern and discomfort fester on Sam’s face as he furrows his brow. A million questions build up and die in the back of his throat before they can reach his tongue and after a moment, he just settles in silence. Higgs indulges. 

Higgs pokes the top of Lou’s pod as Sam himself has done many times, until she’s rocking and giggling in that infant manner she always does. Sam can hear the shark-toothed grin in his voice, but not an ounce of happiness behind it. His voice is low, as though his words are meant solely for Lou, “Your daddy treats you good, huh? I bet he does.” 

Sam’s patience wears thin, not being able to make sense of Higgs’ words. “Everything said here is recorded. They’ll know you were here.” 

“Oh, and we wouldn’t want _that_.” Higgs says, “can’t let the reputation of good ol’ Elite Deliverer Sam Bridges go tarnished because of me.” He never turns away from Lou as he speaks. 

If threats won’t work, then perhaps reason will. 

Sam growls, and shakes his head. “You’re asking for a lot more trouble than being here is worth. Just get out.” 

Higgs’ arms on his knees stretch beyond the fabric of his suit as it bunches up around his shoulders, and Sam can see the paleness of his arms. Red and purple divots, no larger than a penny, dot the underside of his arm. Sam eyes them but by the time he finally makes out the dark little mounds against his skin, Higgs is upright. 

Higgs looks up and around. He eyes the cabinet full from floor to ceiling with weapons and devices, most of which feed off of Sam himself. “Woah— and I thought I was paranoid.” Higgs laughs lowly, “Are you paranoid Sammy? Do you like that little tickle in your jeans when you feel _dangerous_?” 

“I ain’t gonna ask again.” The impatient rise in octaves in Sam’s voice surprises even himself. “What. do you want?”

Higgs finally looks at Sam over his shoulder and his face is practically covered in shining ink. The black substance is gathered in the crows feet beside his eyes and the lines around his mouth— the faint darkening in his facial hair and the dip just above his top lip makes his whole visage appear even more unstable that it usually is. The indecipherable equation on his forehead almost looks normal compared to the smeared ink, runny with what Sam can only assume is tears and snot, that covers the better half of his face. 

Sam watches with a frown as Higgs wipes the back of his hand across his face. It comes off black and shiny. 

The urgency in Sam’s voice dissipates and leaves behind in its stead a world of emotions he isn’t ready to process right now. He tries to avert his eyes from Higgs’ sharp smile and how starkly it contrasts with the smear of tears and snot across his face, and glances around as he speaks. “Leave. I don’t want you here.”

Higgs’ eyes trail down Sam’s body as he turns to face him, eyeing the bulge of his muscles and the looseness of his sweats. “You’re really gonna stand there and tell me you don’t want me here, _Bridges_?” The final word is spoken with such malice and resentment, yet Higgs continues to draw his lips away from his teeth. “You don’t want that, do you.” 

It’s not a question and Sam knows it but that feeling of anticipation under Higgs’ eye makes him want to answer. 

“Yeah, actually I fucking do. Get out.” Sam points to the door and Higgs follows his fingers with his eyes and the direction in which they point until he lands on the door. He simply looks back at Sam and draws that shark-toothed grin further up his face. 

Higgs takes a step closer to Sam. “What do you think you're gonna do to make me leave?” he tilts his head, “Hm?” He smirks at Sam’s scowl and closes that distance— that gap of safety and avoidance of confrontation— between them until they're practically touching noses. “Do you want to lay your hands on me, Sammy? You wanna wring my neck till’ i can't see straight?”

Every fiber of Sam’s being wants to knock Higgs’ head against the floor and finally silence that mouth of his that never stops. It’s like he gets off on his own voice. It’s incessant. Yet the sickening closeness of their bodies has an unrecognizable anticipation burning in his chest. Sam’s fists ball until his knuckles blanch and Higgs can visibly see the impatience in his body language, which only eggs him on.

“Put me in my place, Sammy.” Higgs says lowly. His breath is hot on Sam’s lips, “Go on, I deserve it.” He wraps a hand around Sam’s wrist and pulls it to his neck. Both of their hands rest at the base of his throat with Higgs aligning Sam’s calloused fingers just perfectly across his jugular, pressing hard enough that Sam gets the idea of what he wants.

Higgs tilts his chin back and looks at Sam down the bridge of his nose. His grip is strong enough to hold Sam’s hand in place over the bulging arteries in his throat, enough that he can’t pull away.

Sam can practically smell the fever on him, as though he had never gotten close enough for it until now. It's a pungent, acrid scent of rancid tar and sweat, and that faint iron-like taste of blood. It practically soils his taste buds as though he’d physically licked Higgs’ body head to toe. Sam looks at that encouraging expression on Higgs’ face and the needy strength holding his fingers down on his jugular, and thinks, and then he squeezes. 

Higgs melts into it like he’s _becoming_ the pressure around his neck. 

When Sam’s hand is doing the squeezing, he slides his fingers down his arm like he wants to feel every inch of the muscles that could snap his trachea like a toothpick. 

Sam’s expression is as reserved as he can make it, but the way this new power makes him feel— how addictive it is— has his hair standing on end. He watches Higgs, the sight of his face reddening, how his depraved, sharp grin loses that little touch that always has him looking dangerous, the way his nostrils flare and how he thrusts his body against Sam’s as though to feel that strength down the entirety of his person. 

It’s the two of them here and only the two of them, and they can both feel the implications of that growing hot in their pants.

Higgs presses his hips forward into Sam’s as though to wear himself out against his body. He squeezes Sam’s arm like a vise and Sam obliges, indulging him in the most simple yet rewarding way. The immense pressure has him playing into it with languid, loose rolls of his hips against Sam’s, grinding and applying himself with as much force as he can possibly manage against whatever will offer friction. The guttural, throaty gasps and whines and muted pleas feel like a punch to the groin to Sam, hitting him just where he needs it. 

Sam squeezes, trying to stifle those pathetic, needy sounds as much as he can. 

Higgs’ eyes roll backwards until it’s just the whites of his eyes. Sam can’t stand the way it makes him feel, as though he’s physically choosing a side— siding with the enemy wordlessly but in every way that counts. It feels like a forfeit, yielding and compromising his position indefinitely. 

“Oh— _fuck_ ,” Higgs’ voice is strained and breathless, “Touch me— _please_.” 

Sam doesn’t want himself to want it as badly as he really does. 

Higgs chokes out a needy, garbled whine and wraps a hand around Sam’s other arm in a desperate effort to guide him where he needs him to be. 

It doesn’t take much forcing before Sam is hurriedly palming his way through higgs’ many layers. 

His _many annoying_ layers. 

“Fuck— Sam.” Higgs arches his back and cranes his body, adjusting his posture in such a begging manner that his hips are as far forward as he can get them. He ruts into Sam’s hand, mewling and wheezing around the fist at his throat. 

Sam can’t help the deep growl that escapes him. Their faces are close enough that Sam can feel the hot breath on his lips from every one of Higgs’ pathetic curses and cries. He’s bending himself into Sam’s touch and practically crying out when Sam doesn’t immediately reciprocate with the same amount of pressure. 

Sam hastily dips his fingers below the waistband of Higgs’ soldier fatigues and immediately feels how wet he is, coating his hand in copious amounts of slick pussy-drool. 

Higgs is a mess of groans and choked whines. His face is turning red and his eyes are half-lidded and his hips are still rolling forward, humping Sam’s hand. 

Sam shoves a fat finger through Higgs’ folds until he’s knuckle-deep in his loose cunt, curling and coaxing out the pained gasps and cries and every ounce of fluid inside of him. He pistons his finger in and out of his hole, feeling how his walls tighten and spasm, contracting around the stimulation. He adds another and Higgs’ painted nails are digging into his forearm with a choked “ _fuck_ ” sounding so desperate that Sam can’t help but quicken his pace until he’s spreading Higgs’ hole open, using two fingers to scissor his entrance and spread him far and wide. 

The arteries in his throat are bulging and his face is bright red, even under all that runny liner. Sam is seconds away from crushing his trachea but the pressure combined with a set of calloused fingers in his cunt has him so close to an orgasm, he can’t say a word or stop the flow of it all now. 

Sam pries him open and adds another finger, and then— much to Higgs’ pained cries of dismay— another. He curls and drags them along his walls, making sure he feels up every inch of his insides. 

Higgs is moaning into the air, taking Sam four fingers deep with no regard for the painful stretch in his organs. Sam stops his motions altogether just to watch how Higgs fuck himself on his fingers, grinding his clit against Sam’s palm and hissing through his teeth as his orgasm begins to pull at his stomach. He’s groaning and red-faced and his vision is blurring at the edges. Sam loves how far he’s willing to go— what he’s willing to have done unto him— for the sake of simply being touched. 

Sam thrusts his fingers as far up inside of him as he can and Higgs is suddenly coming. He braces himself against Sam, grabbing his shirt and heaving out a choked yell. His insides are spasming around Sam’s fingers, painfully tight around each digit. 

The descent from his post-orgasm high is quick. He slaps a hand against Sam’s arm frantically to let him know it’s time to breathe and gasps. Sam notices a pretty pink line, steadily darkening, stretching from ear-to-ear along Higgs’ neck and oddly enough, the sight of it fills him with pride.

Sam rubs a few lazy circles around Higgs’ clit before his hips are stuttering and jerking away from his hand from overstimulation. He pulls his hand back up and holds it out a bit as the two of them reflexively eye it, coated in Higgs’ slick. 

“Huh.” Higgs sighs tiredly, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Sammy.” 

Sam squints at him, “Then why did you come here?”

Higgs looks between Sam and his hand, and shrugs one shoulder. “I thought you might surprise me. Plus—“ Higgs laughs, “I needed the pick-me-up.”

“I could tell.” 

“Ouch.” Higgs steps back and rubs off the liner covering his face on his hands and sleeves. It smears, not really giving into the coarse fabric of his suit, but it does give way to some new expanses of skin. He drops his hands back to his side and eyes Sam. He looks down at the undeniable bulge in Sam’s pants where he can see the perfect outline of his cock through what looks to be only one loose layer of fabric, and then back up. “Want me to take care of that?” 

“No.” Sam grunts, “you’ve been here too long already.” He shakes his hand as to express some form of disgust at the shiny coating that’s quickly drying on his skin. He glances at the sink and then back to Higgs. “You should leave.” 

Higgs’ expression turns a little more sour than it seems even he’d been expecting. He frowns at Sam. “I didn’t take you for the ‘hit it and quit it’ type. I thought maybe you’d wanna talk first— sort things out. I mean I—“ Higgs laughs, near scoffs, “I didn’t come here just to get fucked and go.” 

“What do you expect me to say?” Sam holds out his arms, “I’m not going to fuckin’ cuddle you and we don’t have any feelings to talk about. So just leave. Alarm’s probably gonna trip any second now.”

Higgs squints at him and then slowly nods, “Right.” He rubs at the bruise slowly forming on his neck, and clears his throat, “Keep your eyes open, Bridges. I still haven’t seen what you look like at your worst.” 

And just like that, he’s gone. 

Particles of chiralium and little flakes of gold slowly dissolve mid-air and with that, there’s nothing left of Higgs to speak of. Nothing but the ache in Sam’s groin and the slick connecting his fingers. 

He quickly washes his hands and sorts through his emotions in the mirror, wondering why the fuck someone like _Higgs_ could’ve managed to get his rocks off so easily like that. He nearly came in his sweats just watching how Higgs struggled against his grip. 

Sam readjusts his stance and feels that discomfort of untouched arousal vying for his attention. Yet even here, he can’t bear to let himself be heard getting off on Higgs, despite what they both just did. He can’t let his own breathless moans intertwined with Higgs’ name be recorded and archived as though it’s casual to fuck terrorists inside friendly territory. 

The shame gathers in the pit of his stomach and has him feeling sickly. His body is hot and feeling just about as needy as Higgs was yet he can’t— or rather doesn't want to bring himself to that just yet. He doesn’t want to stoop down to that level and admit that rolling around with the enemy was fun. He can’t have others hear it any more than he can admit it to himself. But the more he thinks about how loose Higgs’ hole was to begin with and how pliant he was just trying to get Sam to touch him, the more enticing a second shower sounds. 

The microphones won’t hear much but the privacy wall sliding shut and a stream of hot water running for just a bit longer than usual, and perhaps the ex grenade dispenser confusedly spitting out a new type of bomb in pasty color.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit the rat, beat the rat. 
> 
> Scream at me for any spelling errors/general mistakes etc I may have missed. All feedback is appreciated!


End file.
